Alpha
by writer-of-demigodishness
Summary: A run in with the Alpha Pack goes terribly wrong. Stiles is there for the aftermath. Written for the TW fanfiction contest. Touch of sterek if you don't blink and miss it. One-Shot.


**I wrote this for the Teen Wolf fanfiction contest, and I'm super proud of it. I've written drabbly goodness for this fandom before but this is my first completed fic. **

**Almost 2000 words. Almost unnoticeable tint of sterek (HARDCORE SHIPPER OVER HERE I HAD TO). **

**Disclaimer: Teen Wolf belongs to Jeff Davis, bless his soul. **

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Huffs of breath filled the tense air, and groans of pain moved in next to them. Stiles' thundering footsteps beat out a fast rhythm on the dew-wet dead grass, not too much slower than the intense beating of his own heart. He could hear the blood pulsing in his head from running as quickly as he could to the Hale house from where he parked at the chained-off entrance to the reserve. He hoped to whatever deity was out there that he had actually shut his door, and his car keys were still in his hoodie pocket where he swiftly stashed them before bolting. A hiss of discomfort entered the harmony of sounds that Stiles wished he was never a part of. He stepped into the house, the old floorboards creaking under his feet. In front of him lay a pack of injured werewolves. Isaac was sitting on the last step of the stairwell, cradling his right arm and whining in the back of his throat as he leaned against the banister. Stiles wondered if it would break under the pressure now placed upon it. It was a wonder it hadn't before. Erica and Boyd were on the floor next to one another, only a few feet from Isaac. Erica was passed out, and Boyd had her laying half in his lap, half off, as one of his legs was badly injured and he didn't want the extra pressure on it. However, he kept his eyes trained on her, flickering over her body and the many injuries it possessed, as he panted harsh breaths, biting his lip from the pain. Jackson was propped up against the far left wall, next to the broken entryway to what was assumed to be the main living room, when the house was livable, that is. His lip was split, but that was closing up quickly, Stiles thought, though, not quickly enough. His stomach obviously took most of the beating. Stiles could see the red soaking through his t-shirt and the sharp hitches in his breath showed that if he hadn't been a supernatural creature, with freaky healing powers, the moment the claws of the alpha had ripped through his torso, he would have been a goner.

"Where's Scott? Derek?" he asked urgently, crouching down next to Jackson to inspect how bad his wounds really were. The jock, even as much searing pain as he was in, had enough "self preservation" left to smack Stiles' hands out of the way. He jerked his head toward the doorway, and it took Stiles a moment to realize that he had answered his question. He shoved his cell phone into the omega's hands, saying quickly, "Call Lydia, we need everyone here. Danny too. Hell, even Allison. _Now_."

Before Jackson could protest (and he knew that there would be words), Stiles stood and entered the next room. His grip on the doorway tightened, and he could feel splinters digging into his fingertips as he pushed off of the dying structure, shoving Peter from where he stood looking down on Derek and Scott. The ex-alpha was devoid of any mortally fatal wounds, and huffed in annoyance at being pushed back. It angered Stiles to no end, knowing that Peter probably stood off to the side (again) and waited until he was absolutely needed in the last two minutes on the fight.

Derek looked better than the rest, but not by much. He was without a shirt, probably torn to shreds judging by the claw marks that raked across his back. He was crouched like Stiles had been moments before in front of a quivering body. The alpha's shoulders were tense and taught, and the tattoo between his shoulder blades stretched with them. Glancing up to see Stiles only dulled a short fraction of the sharp edged blade that seemed to be ever present around Derek now a-days- especially concerning things with the alpha pack.

And then there was Scott.

Scott was huddled into the corner of the room, arms brought up protectively around his body. He was breathing heavily and shaking, but he didn't seem hurt exactly. He _was_ in pain, but...

"Scott?" Stiles asked tentatively, lowering himself down next to Derek so he could get a better assessment of the damage. Before he could reach out and grab hold of Scott's arms, Derek laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Stiles flicked his gaze over to the alpha. "What happened?" he demanded sharply.

Derek, face blank of emotion, left a second of silence to float between them before saying, "Alpha pack. They ambushed us in the woods. We were able to fight them off, get them to leave us alone for a while, but near the end, one had his jaws locked on Isaac's arm, and Scott jumped him before any permanent damage was done-" His facade broke for a moment, frowning deeply and eyes darkening at a distressed whine coming from Scott, cutting off the rest of his story. He removed his hand from Stiles' shoulder and gestured to Scott. "Talk to him, he needs... help. I don't know how to help him with this, you're better equipped to do it."

Peter snorted behind them and muttered something along the lines of, "Irony..." before Stiles sent him a fierce glare, and Derek growled low in his throat, eyes flashing red. Peter backed out of the room, arms held up in surrender.

Derek shot Stiles one last pleading, not to mention rare, look, and then stood to take care of his betas, leaving the two best friends alone.

Stiles shuffled closer to Scott and brought his hand up again, but a muffled, "Don't," halted his action.

He dropped his hand and creased his brow in worry. "Scott, buddy, you gotta talk to me, what happened? Are you hurt?"

"I killed him," Scott's weak voice responded, and then he choked back on tears and stated in a stronger voice, "I killed him, the alpha, I killed someone, Stiles. I-... I didn't want to, a-and now- I just wanted Isaac not to lose an arm, I didn't mean to go crazy on 'em."

Stiles shushed him, stopping his blabbering for a moment, only to be replaced by silent tears as he curled up into himself more. Stiles wrapped his arms around the boy, trying to comfort him. How the hell did Derek think he knew what to do?

"Get away, Stiles. I'm dangerous. I killed someone. An alpha. I'm- and now I'm a-"

It finally clicked in Stiles head, and his eyes widened. He pried apart Scott's arms and looked at him straight in the face. "Scott, look at me," he coaxed, gripping his friend's shoulders, trying to catch his eye.

"Want to cross 'look a murder in the face' off of your bucket list?" Scott attempted to joke, but his voice betrayed him, wavering unsteadily.

Stiles let out a short, breathy laugh, but no humor was laced within. He gave Scott's shoulders a gentle shake. "No, I've already looked Peter in the face, and I'd much rather look at your pretty face than his. C'mon, look at me."

Slowly, Scott raised his head and stared at Stiles, his expression guarded. His face was flushed, wet with tears, hair messy and covered in dirt, and his eyes glowed a vibrant red, a major change to the normal (what's normal about werewolves, though?) gold they had been.

The new alpha blinked, and then averted his gaze, shrinking himself into the corner once again, brushing off Stiles' hands, as if he wanted to become one with the wall.

"_Stiles_, get away from me. I'm dangerous, I could bite you right now, the urge is so- so _strong_, I can't," an angered growl erupted from him, more so in frustration. He ground out between his teeth, emphasizing words as he spoke, "I can _smell_ you, and you're my best friend, and I want you to be _like_ me- back away before I hurt you, I don't- get _away_!"

Stiles stood (sat) his ground, however, and didn't move. "Exactly, I'm your best friend. When you were first bit, I was there, and I was the one to help you control it. This isn't that different, and I am _going_ to help you. You and me, we're gonna work this out, together. And I will not give up or abandon you, especially right now when you need me the most. We _will_ work through this, alright? Just like before, we'll train and find ways to keep you calm, and I _know_ Derek will help you, because he's been here before too. We will all help. We're a pack; you, me, Jackson, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, Danny, Allison, and Derek, hell, even Peter, we're a pack, and that's _what we do_."

"I'm not pack- not anymore. I'm an alpha now, I'll need to start my own pack. _Stiles_-" his voice cut off, Stiles' name said with a choked force.

Those words still sent tingles up his spine, _I'm an alpha now_, but he pressed on. "Fine. Then you and me can be a pack, huh? We can be, like, a pair inside a group. We can keep secrets, and have pack meetings without anyone else, and we'll make them think something serious is getting discussed, but we're actually just playing video games. And I'll listen to you about Allison, and you can listen to me talk about everyone out of my league, and, well, after all that, we'll drive on up here and have a big pack cuddle session. Without Peter, that's pedophile-ish. Other than that, just group hugs for everyone, but mostly for our two favorite alphas."

Stiles walked awkwardly closer on his knees to Scott, who stopped camouflaging himself into the wall, and was now staring at Stiles, wide, wet eyes with only a trace of red bleeding into them. "That sound good?" Stiles asked, holding out a hand.

Without hesitation, Scott gripped his hand and pulled him into a tight embrace. All of the air escaped Stiles' lungs as he was pressed firmly against Scott's chest, but he took in a deep breath as he squeezed back, and Scott's head fell onto his shoulder.

"Thank you," was the mumbled reply he heard as he began carting his hand through Scott's hair, un-snagging the tangles and letting dirt loose from the strands it stuck to. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Derek in the entry way, who gave him a curt nod before stepping away. And Stiles' heart definitely did _not_ jump from Derek's approval of his methods.

"Of course, Scott, that's what I'm here for," he murmured back softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

They _would_ be fine. They would work through this. And even though it will be tough, and they will want to give up a lot, _they will succeed_. And yeah, they'll lose _a lot_, but in the end, it will all turn out okay. Because Stiles Stilinski does _not_ give up without a fight.

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**Reviews are appreciated! **

**-Love**


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